


In the Starlight

by magenpie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, HBP-Compliant, Hogwarts Sixth Year
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-18 22:15:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14861273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magenpie/pseuds/magenpie
Summary: Hermione doesn't understand her life anymore.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and anything you recognise are the property of J. K. Rowling. I'm just playing.

“Granger?

Her head snapped up, and she found herself looking at Draco Malfoy, her least favourite person in the entire world. And he could probably see that she had been crying, too. She groaned, dropping her head, hands coming up to scrub at tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes. She sensed him moving, but refused to look up and was therefore surprised that his voice sounded so much nearer when he next spoke.

“What are you doing here?”

His tone being as devoid of malice as his words, Hermione risked peeking out at him from between her fingers. He was crouched in front, a few feet away, staring straight at her. She lowered her fingers warily, and he quirked an eyebrow.

“What?” she snapped, immediately defensive.

“Are you going to answer, or should I just leave?” he asked mildly.

Hermione glared at him in suspicion. “I could ask you the same thing!”

“Yes, you could,” he agreed, calmly meeting her eyes.

She didn’t know how to respond to that. This was not the usual way her interactions with Draco Malfoy proceeded, and, faced with this un-sneering version of him, she was at a complete loss. So she looked away, and kept quiet.

After a minute of silence, he made to leave. “Fine then.”

He sounded so tired, so defeated, so _un_ like Malfoy at that moment that she couldn’t help herself. “Malfoy?”

“Yeah?”

He had turned back to look at her when she called, and she took the opportunity to study him, noticing for the first time that he looked absolutely exhausted: his face drawn and his eyes dull. He didn’t react to her stare, just stood there, his whole attitude indifferent, and utterly weary. Hermione didn’t think she’d ever seen him like this before.

“Iwon’taskyouifyoudon’taskme.” The words escaped her in a rush.

Malfoy stared; Hermione gulped.

He smirked at her then, and she began to regret having ever opened her mouth. “Well now,” he drawled, “that … can be arranged.” He moved to sit next to her, and she scuttled back into the corner, causing him to raise an eyebrow in her direction and chuckle softly. To Hermione’s surprise, it was a pleasant sound, and she found herself wishing he’d do it more often.

 

**********

 

“Why are you here?” Dear god, she’d said that aloud, hadn’t she? Why did she have to say that out loud? If he answered, she’d have to, as well - and she had no desire to explain the complicated mess that was her life right now. It wasn’t as if she _could_ explain all of it: she had no idea why Ron had taken up with ‘Lav-Lav’, and she didn’t want to think too deeply into why she had taken to regularly meeting Draco Malfoy. And if he took offence - Merlin, she was just so tired of fighting all the time!

But he seemed completely unperturbed when he answered, “Same reason as you, I imagine. I’ve had quite a day.” He grimaced, and she giggled.

Draco looked at her askance. Since when did Granger giggle? But then, he thought, maybe she did giggle, just not in front of him. Yeah, that made sense. Draco knew he tended to forget that Granger was a girl as well as the highly-intelligent-and-therefore-dangerous component of the Gryffindor Trio. But she never behaved like a girl in his presence, and the only time he’d seen her look like one was back in fourth year, at the Yule Ball. And _then_ it flashed across his mind that he was not the only one who tended to forget, and with sudden, unwanted insight, he realized that this was part of the reason that Granger had recently taken to haunting deserted hallways and classrooms. The red-haired git’s attempts to eat the face off that Brown girl probably had something to do with it as well, of course.

Shaking his head, Draco brought his attention back to Granger, who was now staring down at her ink-stained hands and sighing softly. Looking at her, Draco found himself wanting to distract her. Granger shouldn’t be pining over the Weasel - it was just wrong! At least she had brains, which was more than could be said for that idiot. And he’d found her company restful: it beat being alone, but she expected nothing from him, and had even been able to hold in her questions till this evening. He cast around for a suitable topic of conversation - one that would be unlikely to annoy her but was not anathema to him, and decided he’d best stick to lessons. Very well, he would ask her what she thought about their Arithmancy homework: it was a subject he liked, and one that had nothing to do with Weasley, besides.

“So, Granger, what d’you think of the assignments Vector set us?”

She looked surprised, but not displeased, and before he knew it, they were animatedly discussing the ways in which the Large Numbers Law was interacted upon by Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfigurations, and why the Five Exceptions held true. How long they would have continued talking Draco could not guess, but they were startled out of their absorption by a cackling sound and loud, indignant meows. Hermione started, even as Draco murmured, “We’d better go. That sounds like Peeves has found Mrs Norris —"

“And where Mrs Norris is, Filch usually follows”, Granger supplied, sounding dazed.

They walked to the stairs together, an unspoken agreement between them that they’d pretend they were on patrol should they be accosted by Filch, Peeves, or any other meddling parties. At the foot of the stairs Draco nodded to Granger, who still looked slightly Stunned, before turning sharply to head to the dungeons. He did not allow himself to think that, in the brief period discussing Arithmantic applications with Granger, he had not only forgotten all about blood purity, but the weight of his task had also lifted for the space of that conversation.

 

**********

 

Hermione hesitated. Harry and Ron had left that morning, and she’d found herself at a loose end after lunch, unable to settle. She’d tried reading in the library, taking a nap in her dormitory, and knitting in the common room to no avail, so she’d gone for a walk, eventually climbing the Astronomy Tower. That’s when she’d spotted him – his hair was unmistakable, especially in the dusk that shrouded the grounds – and walked over to the lake on a whim she dared not question. Now, watching him from the shadow of a convenient tree, taking in how still and calm he seemed, she wondered if she had any right to disturb him. It had not escaped her attention that, as the weeks went by, Malfoy looked increasingly haggard. He’d stopped trying to aggravate Harry, and become quiet and withdrawn – which had only increased Harry’s paranoia, to Hermione’s exasperation – though he still turned up from time to time to sit with her in darkened corridors and deserted classrooms, and discuss Arithmantic formulations and Runic translations.

They’d even spoken about Potions once, and Hermione had surprised herself by admitting the bitterness she felt at Harry’s repeatedly besting her by cheating out of that book. Malfoy had laughed softly at that, murmuring “So that’s what it is!” Then, before she could panic about how he’d use this information to humiliate Harry, or herself, or both, he’d startled her by staring directly into her eyes. In a quiet voice he’d explained that Potion-making was something of an art: Borage’s _Advanced Potion Making_ would provide the basic recipe and method, but they could be improved upon – and those improvements were what the potion-maker added of himself to the potion. “That’s why”, he’d concluded, “becoming a Potions Master requires an apprenticeship.” Hermione had listened, feeling increasingly irritated – how was she – or any other Muggleborn – supposed to know these things if no one would tell them? And why had no one told her – forget Snape or Slughorn, why hadn’t any of the Weasleys said anything? When she’d met his eyes again after he’d fallen silent, he’d looked at her with his lips twitching, as if he was trying to hold back a smirk – or a smile. “Well? Go on. You know you want to ask.”

“Do you know whose book Harry has?”

He’d shrugged, “A Master’s, obviously, but I don’t know more than that”.

She’d thought for a moment, then decided that since he hadn’t specified how many questions she could ask him, she’d ask all she could until he stopped her. “Are all Potions Masters equally good?”

He’d seemed amused by that. “Come on Granger, you know better than that. I just told you that Potion-making skill depends on natural talent, how could all Masters be equally good? The certification requires a minimum level of proficiency – no one says you can’t be better!”

“How do you know all this?”

“I’m a Pureblood: we all know some of these things”. He’d hesitated, and to her surprise seemed embarrassed. “As for the details – well – Professor Snape is my godfather”.

“And he’s very good”. It wasn’t a question.

“He’s the best.” She’d nodded to herself; he’d only confirmed what she’d suspected all along: whatever deficiencies there were in his style of instruction, Snape was an excellent Potions Master – and he would have viewed Harry’s sudden proficiency with the same suspicion she did. It made her feel a little better.

They’d parted shortly after, and Hermione hadn’t seen him since – though she admitted to herself that this was because she hadn’t been to any of their usual places, rather than any attempt on his part to avoid her. But between trying to get Harry to stay out of trouble when he was adamant about stalking Malfoy; avoiding ‘Won-Won’ with ‘Lav-Lav’, who seemed to be everywhere she looked; and trying to convince Ginny that she _really_ wanted to stay at Hogwarts this Christmas and it wasn’t because of her idiot brother – of course it was, but Ginny didn’t need to know that! – she really hadn’t had the time, especially since she dreaded Harry stumbling upon her … interactions … with Malfoy and ruining them.

Hermione still hadn’t allowed herself to think too closely on whatever she and Malfoy had going, but she knew that she wanted it to continue – though she refused to think about _that_ too closely either. Her evenings with Malfoy were calming, as absurd as that was: he expected nothing of her, and right now, he seemed the only person she could be truly herself around: a know-it-all Muggleborn – who sometimes didn’t know-it-all because she was Muggleborn – but shockingly he hadn’t mocked her for that, and that thought both worried and warmed her. Which is why she was here, out in the chilly evening. She sighed: she’d been watching him for at least ten minutes; it was cold; he wasn’t doing anything; and she _still_ wasn’t sure if she should disturb him.

“I know you’re there, Granger”.

Hermione stepped out from behind her tree, now no longer able to look at him. “I – uh – I didn’t mean to disturb you – um…”, she told her shoes.

There was a moment’s silence, and then, “You’d better sit down, Granger, we’ll be here a while.”

Her head snapped up, but he wasn’t looking at her, still staring out over the lake, his face as placid as the water. She picked her way over to the rock he was leaning against, and found that he was sitting on what looked like an old woollen cloak. He shifted to make room for her without prompting, and she settled down, finding the ground softer and the cloak warmer than she’d expected – of course he’d cast a charm, why hadn’t she thought of that? Her hands were freezing, so she sat on them. Malfoy spared her an amused glance, then muttered something, and the air around her was suddenly warmer.

“Thank you”.

“It was beginning to wear off anyway”.

He didn’t say any more, and she found she had no heart to break the silence. It was enough, to be sitting here like this, insulated from the brisk chill by his warming charm, surrounded by the sound of the waves lapping the shore and the wind rustling the leaves of the trees. Malfoy stared at the horizon, unmoving – but his posture was relaxed, his arms resting loosely on his knee as he leaned back against the rock, leg stretched out in front of him. Hermione did not know how long they sat like this: she had stopped counting, or thinking, and just enjoyed the evening for what it was: silent, peaceful, and beautiful in the moonlight reflecting off the surface of the tranquil water. Occasionally an owl hooted, or soft scratching noises emanated from the grounds around them, as small creatures went about their lives.

Eventually Malfoy stirred, turning his head to look at her – and she was struck by how the moonlight brought out the grey of his eyes. The warming charm was beginning to wear off, or perhaps the evening was becoming cooler, and Hermione became aware of the heat radiating from his body. His lips quirked up: “So Granger, what brings you here? Couldn’t keep away, hmmm?”

She rolled her eyes at him, and – seizing her Gryffindor courage with both hands – asked, “Why would I want to?”

Now his eyes became hooded, contemplative as he studied her. “I think the more obvious question is, why wouldn’t you want to? I’ve made your life as miserable as I possibly could in this school”.

Hermione chewed her lip, thinking how best to respond. Eventually she settled on the truth, but with a slight degree of evasion, “But not this year”, she said quietly.

“No, not this year.”

“Well then”, she sat up and met his eyes, “my question stands too. Why would I want to keep away from you, when you’ve done nothing to hurt me this year?”

He sighed. “I can’t answer that.”

“Then we’re at an impasse”.

“Indeed”.

He stood up, startling her with his sudden movement. Hermione watched as he stretched, rolling his head around, before he turned back to her and held out a hand. He grinned at her surprise, “Come on Granger, it’ll be dinner soon. You don’t want search parties to come looking for us, do you?”

Hermione took his hand in a daze, “What about the impasse?”

He pulled her up easily, then bent to collect his cloak. “Why question something that seems to work?” Straightening up, he turned to her, his expression open, his eyes holding hers, “It does work, right?”

Hermione chuckled at that – and at the idea that Draco Malfoy could be uncertain about anything, and show it – “It does work”.

He smiled at her then – a small thing, fragile but sincere – before dropping her hand and ushering her towards the castle. They walked back together in silence, and it was only later that she realised he must have deliberately shortened his strides to keep pace with her. In the hallway he gave her a slight nod, then walked off, leaving her staring after him wondering what was going on, with Draco Malfoy and with her life. He’d been her nemesis for so long – as he’d just reminded her –  but he was also the most restful person of her acquaintance. Thinking about that was enough to make her head spin. A draught blew in from the open hall door. Hermione turned away: freezing at the foot of the staircase wasn’t going to solve this mystery, but maybe a warm bath would make her feel less confused. Shaking her head she made for the stairs.


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All characters and anything you recognise is the property of J. K. Rowling. Still just playing.

“Why did you crash Slughorn’s party?”

Draco huffed, but didn’t seem annoyed when he smirked at her and drawled, “Granger, when have you known me to react well to being left out of something?”

They were in a deserted classroom on the first floor today, having fallen into the habit of meeting every evening after dinner, now that the castle was deserted for the holidays and curfews technically didn’t apply – not that _that_ would make a difference if anyone found them together, they’d still have a heart attack, or possibly faint from the sight. Hermione amused herself by imagining Slughorn keeling over whenever she caught herself thinking too long on the fact that she looked forward to spending time with Draco Malfoy everyday – she had promised herself she wouldn’t think about it, and she would not. And he hadn’t really answered her question, so he wasn’t giving up whatever-he-was-doing easily – which made her suspect he was doing _something_ – but he was speaking again.

“Where were you?”

“Where was I – when?”

“At Slughorn’s Party” – and now he sounded impatient – “You were invited, but I didn’t see you there, though Potter was certainly gaping at me. So, where were you?”

“Oh”. Hermione felt her face heat up in embarrassment. How was she to explain the McLaggen fiasco to him? Did she _want_ to explain the McLaggen fiasco to him? It was not her finest moment. In fact, she’d been very very stupid – and now had a horrified Harry, a furious Ron and an annoyed Cormac to show for it. She looked down, blinking back sudden, unexpected tears, wondering how she could get him to drop this – after all, she’d started it – when she felt a light touch on her arm.

“It’s alright Granger”, Draco’s voice was pitched low. “You don’t have to tell me. I just wondered”. He took his hand away, and as Hermione looked up at his face, she knew she was going to tell him the whole truth.

“You didn’t see me because I was hiding from my date”

That earned her a raised eyebrow.

“It was Cormac McLaggen.”

“Gryffindor’s reserve Keeper?” He sounded confused. Who could blame him?

“Yes, also known as the human Octopus”, and no, her tone was not bitter – not bitter at all.

Draco shifted a little, “I take it he – uh – tried to – _ensnare_ you in his tentacles, as it were?”

“You could say that.”

There was a moment’s silence, before he burst out – “But _why_ did you go with _him_? I know that you couldn’t – that Weasley is unavailable – but surely Potter or Longbottom or _someone_ in Gryffindor could have stood in for the – what d’you call him? – Octopus!” Draco sounded as perplexed as he looked.

Hermione groaned, dropping her head into her hands. This was so _embarrassing_. Why had she started this? She mumbled through her hands, “I wanted to make Ron notice me.”

“By taking along a date you have to hide from.” She couldn’t blame him for his skepticism, really, put like that, anyone could have seen how horribly flawed her plan was. Why hadn’t someone put it to her like that _before_ she asked McLaggen out? Oh right, because she hadn’t told anyone about it. Ugh!

She lifted her head, “Well I didn’t _know_ he’d turn out to be a human octopus when I asked him to go; I just thought he’d annoy Ron the most.”

“So you wanted to annoy Weasley?”

“Didn’t I just say that?”

He stared at her – and then to her amazement burst out laughing. She’d never heard him laugh like this before, never imagined he could laugh like this: deep and rich, head thrown back, arms clutching his belly. It occurred to her that perhaps she should be slightly offended, but she didn’t think he was laughing at her – though she wasn’t sure why he was laughing at all. It didn’t matter: his laughter was contagious, and she found herself giggling, even as she stared at him and wondered what she could do to make him laugh more. It suited him, she decided, as Draco – still chuckling – turned to her, his eyes bright and cheeks flushed.

“Granger Granger Granger”, he shook his head, voice slightly roughened by his mirth.

Hermione was already chuckling, but asked anyway. “What’s so funny?”

“You took _that_ – in order to annoy Weasley, when for the last six weeks you’ve been meeting _me_ alone!” – and he was laughing again, softer this time, but still rich and deep – and yes, it was a good look on him.

She pursed her lips to try to contain her own amusement, “You know I can’t tell Ron about that! He’ll try to kill you, and I don’t want him permanently damaged!”

Draco snorted at that, “True”. Then – “You’re not planning to go out with this Octopus-person again, are you?”

“Of course not! How stupid do you think I am?”

His eyes softened as he glanced at her, “Well, I didn’t think you were stupid enough to ask an octopus for a date even once Granger – but it’s nice to know you’re human and make mistakes like the rest of us.”

She smiled at him then, because coming from him that was a compliment – and when he smiled back, and she felt a warmth in her chest, Hermione knew that she was in over her head – and that it didn’t matter, because she was still going to come back to see him tomorrow.

 

*********

“Do you never worry you’ll fall off?”

Draco turned his head to look at her as she came through the doorway. He was lounging on the broad ledge that was the wall of the tower, leaning his head back against a pillar, and she thought he looked the picture of an aristocrat at his ease – though he must have been a worried aristocrat, for he had purple smudges beneath his eyes and a face drawn with exhaustion. He couldn’t be feeling too bad, though, for his smirk was as cocky as ever as he said, “Nah Granger, look how broad this is – and the view is great too. Come on, hop up”.

She approached him slowly, but couldn’t bring herself to perch on the ledge hundreds of feet above the ground, no matter what he said – the git _enjoyed_ flying on a broomstick, after all, clearly he couldn’t be trusted to have a sane perspective on the dangers of high places. He was watching her face though, and surprised her by asking quietly, and with the resigned air of one who already knows the answer, “You’re afraid of heights, aren’t you?”

She nodded; he sighed. “We can sit on the floor; I brought an old cloak.”

He made to move, but she stopped him. “No, Dra– Malfoy, it’s alright, why don’t you just stay there and if you give me your cloak I can sit on the floor over there” – she pointed to the base of the pillar opposite the one he was leaning against – “and then we’ll still be able to see each other as we talk and I won’t have to stare at the ground below and you won’t lose your view…”, she trailed off, aware she was rambling but hoping it had distracted him from the fact that she’d almost used his name. She’d stopped thinking of him as ‘Malfoy’ in her head a while ago, but she hadn’t intended for him to find that out.

She caught a flash of teeth as he grinned at her, pointing to the cloak resting near his feet, “Alright then, let’s do this your way.” He didn’t say any more, and she moved near him to take the cloak – glad that he’d missed her slip but feeling slightly disappointed too, somehow – when he said the one thing that could turn her world inside out.

“Hermione”.

His voice was very soft, slightly husky, and her name rolled off his lips as if he’d been saying it all his life – or hers. When she met his eyes they were dark, but his expression was open and oddly vulnerable, and he gave her a small smile, “You were going to say Draco weren’t you?”

She blushed, unsure how to respond; he hadn’t missed it after all.

He reached out, rested a hand lightly on her shoulder, “You can call me Draco when we’re like this.”

“You really don’t mind?”

“I think I’d like it.”

Her smile was dazzling then, “Merry Christmas, Draco.”

He shook his head at that, chuckling lightly, “And a merry Christmas to you too, Hermione”. He squeezed her shoulder slightly, then let go – but she didn’t move away, instead leaning against the parapet and against him, admiring the view and – she could admit this to herself now – enjoying his proximity, feeling the heat of his body warming her. They stayed like that for a few minutes, before he turned amused eyes on her, “So Granger – what do Gryffindors like to do on Christmas – other than meet Slytherins in deserted towers, of course?”

 

*********

Draco dropped down from his wall, coming across to where Hermione was sitting on the ground. She looked up at him as he loomed over her, and bemusedly wondered at the difference a couple of months had made: at the beginning of the year she would have found him threatening in this position, but now she felt perfectly safe. She supposed he was suggesting it was time they left: they had been in the tower for a couple of hours after all. She didn’t really want to go, feeling nowhere near ready for the evening to be over, nowhere near ready to part from _Draco_ – but they’d been silent for about half an hour now and it was late and it was getting chilly, because there’s only so much that warming charms can do.

He held out a hand, she took it and he pulled her up, but then instead of dropping her hand and turning away as she’d expected he used his grip to hold her in place as his other hand fished inside his pocket. “For you”. He held up a box, wrapped in red paper with a green ribbon and very obviously a Christmas present.

Draco smiled as he watched Hermione’s face: her pleasure was as obvious as her surprise – she’d gasped, stared at him with brown eyes that had never seemed bigger, and then reverently, delicately taken the present from his hands. Her eyes searched his. “May I open it?”

“Of course”.

Delicate fingers made quick but tidy work of the wrappings – no wonder Hermione did so well in Potions, even when Severus was teaching – and then she glanced up at him again, a hint of uncertainty in her expression. She must have found what she was looking for in his face, because she looked back down at the box in her hand for only a moment before gently lifting the lid – and then she gasped again, and when she raised her eyes they shone with unshed tears. She held a tiny globe, with stars and constellations winking on it.

“How did you know?”

“I didn’t, not really. I guessed. I figured you must have read about them but a good one is not exactly easy to find and – ah – you probably wouldn’t have access to any, so I thought …”. He seemed hesitant – almost _shy_ – this was a side – another side, she corrected herself – of Draco Malfoy that Hermione had never seen, and it was one that she liked. He took a deep breath, and seemed to recover his poise, though he wouldn’t look at her. "The default is the position of the stars at the place and time you’re currently in, but it shows stellar configurations accurately across the globe for at least the last six hundred years – I mean, I’ve confirmed its accuracy for that period by comparing it with contemporary star charts. The enchantment should extend a millennium either way from the present. After that you start losing accuracy the further you go in time. It takes voice commands for place and time.”

“Thank you”. Her voice was breathy. She couldn’t help it. That he’d put so much thought into a present for her…she was grateful, of course, but also more than grateful, something she couldn’t put a name to, but that felt like her heart had expanded to fill up all the empty spaces inside her.

He still wouldn’t look at her, and then Hermione did something she’d never expected to – it was as if her arms moved without waiting for her brain to give permission. She hugged him. He was taller than her, and when she’d flung her arms around his shoulders she ended up with her face resting against his chest, so she felt – rather than heard – his shocked gasp at the contact. For a moment all was still and quiet except for his steady heartbeat under her ear, and the less steady sound of the blood pounding in her ears as she wondered how on earth she could retreat from this position without complete mortification, and then she felt a warm palm press into her back, and gentle fingers sifting through her curls. She let out her breath in a rush of relief, not even caring if he heard her – and he chuckled softly before releasing her. When she peeked up at him he was smiling, eyes warm. He held out a hand to her – “Come on Granger, I want some hot chocolate and maybe some mince pie before I turn in. You up for a trip to the kitchens?”

She took his hand – she wasn’t sure she was capable of refusing him anything right now, when he’d just given her a Christmas present and accepted a hug and was looking at her expectantly with that cheeky grin. They didn’t speak, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable, and it wasn’t until Malfoy released her hand to tickle the pear that she remembered he’d been holding it all that time.


End file.
